


Blind's Eye

by Lightningpelt



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Ancient Egypt, Gemshipping, M/M, Marik won't show up for a couple of chapters, Rating May Change, but I'm excited to get to include him!!, rating DID change! rated for the last chapter~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-06-16 14:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/Lightningpelt
Summary: The notorious and feared King of Thieves has a secret—his eyes don't work especially well.Ryou, with exotically pale skin and white hair, is one of the few things he actually can see. As if that weren't incentive enough, Ryou seems to have some strange ideas about "freedom," and so Thief King Bakura sets out to make this rare treasure his own.





	1. For a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I have _the workday from hell_ scheduled tomorrow, but do I go to sleep early? Nah. I crack open a bottle of pink moscato and say, "LET'S GEMSHIP FOLKS." 
> 
> So the idea for this fic came from a _really_ old forum I was reading through, wondering if any canon clues exist regarding the origin of TKB's scar. While I heavily favor the "mutilation-punishment-for-thievery-of-some-sort" theory, the idea of Bakura having somewhat impaired vision stuck with me. And then my brain, being what it is, turned that into a gemshipping concept, and thus this fic was born. 
> 
> A few nuts and bolts:  
> - **WARNINGS** include some sexual situations, references to dub-con situations, discussion and debate regarding sex work (which was a thing, and not necessarily a bad thing, during the time period in question), references to past starvation, and some moderate violence.  
>  -Rating may be changed.  
> -I'm planning for this to be five or six chapters.  
> -This is clearly an AU, not the Ancient Egypt of canon. I will try to be as historically accurate as I can, but won't be researching as zealously as I would be for, say, an original fiction project, so please don't expect perfection. c: 
> 
> With that, I do hope you enjoy the first chapter of Blind's Eye!

Ryou didn't see the stranger enter the favern—the stranger, with several heavy gold decorations strung around his neck and about his head. Ryou didn't see the stranger take a seat or hear the stranger order food, nor was he privy to the thickening of the air as most other patrons took due notice. 

Ryou's only concern was his own table, and the three men seated there. The man immediately beside him had one hand casually wrapped around the back of Ryou’s neck, all but concealed beneath luscious white hair, and that was much more relevant to Ryou than the appearance of some enigmatic stranger. 

The conversation at Ryou's own table, however, drew up short at a _crash_ from across the room, and then Ryou himself looked up. 

The man—the stranger, with his ostentatious gold and his cowled red cloak—stood across from a regular patron of the tavern. A table had been knocked aside to make room and, as the onlookers watched, the two began slowly to circle one another. 

"Great Ammit...!" one of the men at Ryou's table breathed. "That's the King of Thieves!" 

The hand around Ryou's neck tightened, and he stiffened. 

"Oh man, that guy should just run..." one of the men at Ryou's table muttered. "They say you should _run_ , if you piss him off. Most times he's too lazy to chase you. But once he gets his hands on you, you're _dead_." 

"Well, that guy clearly picked the fight," the other replied, "so he _wouldn't_ run." 

The man holding Ryou by the neck remained silent. 

The two circling one another fell still, for a second, and then the stranger—the King of Thieves—darted forward. His challenger pulled back, but not quick enough; the Thief King caught his wrist and twisted it. The man threw a punch, and the Thief King ducked, catching the blow on his shoulder. He kept his grip on the man's wrist; wrenched it harder, until the man cried out, and then the Thief King threw a punch of his own. His challenger’s nose spewed blood, clearly broken, and he reeled back, but the Thief King didn't release him; indeed followed, as the man fell, and threw him to the ground. They tumbled, for a moment, the man's terrified shrieks rising as the crowd shifted to give them space. There was a crack, audible from the table where Ryou sat, and then silence. 

The King of Thieves rose; brushed himself off and returned to his table, face still hidden in the shadow of his red hood. He sat down, resuming his meal before. 

"Anyone else want to die?" he snarled, after a moment. He swung his head, taking in the whole of the crowd from within his cowl. Ryou caught himself wondering what his face must look like, to match that fearsome voice. 

The onlookers scattered—some fled the establishment, while others shakily returned to their own seats. The Thief King continued to eat. 

"That's _one_ guy in Egypt I'd never piss off," one of the men at Ryou's table said, with a dark chuckle. The business talk carried on, then, and the grip on Ryou's neck loosened slightly. 

Ryou's skin prickled, suddenly, and he glanced over. Though the Thief King’s face was still hidden in shadow, he had turned—was seemingly staring, directly, at Ryou. Ryou looked away before the man holding onto his neck could notice. 

"That's that, then!" The hand tightened as it's owner spoke at last; an agreement had been reached. Ryou closed his eyes. 

A shout from across the room made Ryou's eyes snap back open; he swung, along with the other three at his table, to see a man flying at the Thief King with a knife drawn. The Thief King responded with unnatural speed, grabbing the assailant without turning and lifting him, flipping the man over his own head to smash down onto the table. 

" _Now_ you've ruined my meal." The thief's head swung—disorientingly, to anyone watching—from side to side. The man, dazed, didn't try to rise. People with access to the door began to scramble from the tavern, then, and the two men at Ryou's table rose. Ryou did not, as the man holding his neck had not. 

Several people took their chance—lunged, at the Thief King. He knocked them down seemingly without effort. One managed to get a hand on his cloak, though, and he gave a furious roar as his cowl was rent back. The assaulter, a moment later, was thrown aside. 

Ryou's breath caught; he stared, rapt, at the face that had been properly revealed. It was a handsome face, or would've been if not for the gruesome scar that marred it's right side. The Thief King’s silver hair was tousled; his teeth borne in a feral snarl. 

"Now you've done it!" The Thief King pulled his hood back up, then lunged for the man who'd exposed him. 

In the chaos that followed, the two men who'd been at Ryou's table vanished; the man gripping his neck cursed, and shifted his grip to Ryou's collar, dragging the boy from his seat. But as he bustled Ryou out of the establishment, Ryou's eyes remained on the Thief King. 

And, at some point, the Thief King's eyes found Ryou, as well, and stayed on him for an inordinately long period of time.

... ... ... 

The next morning, Ryou woke beside a man—one of the men who'd been sitting at the table, though not the one who had held onto the back of his neck. He didn't know this man's name, but nudged him gently; woke him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Would you like me to bring up some breakfast?" Ryou asked softly, and the man murmured an assent. Ryou slipped from the bed, then, and pulled on a tan, gossamer robe. 

The inn-keeper greeted Ryou familiarly, then went to fetch two breakfasts. They'd already been paid for. While Ryou waited, he combed pensively through his hair with his fingers; worked out a snarl. 

"Hello, there." 

Ryou turned—stalled, when he realized who had spoken. The figure had materialized behind him, not at all as tall as Ryou had assumed him to be—indeed, a few inches shorter than Ryou himself. Anything he lacked in stature, though, was made up for in aura, and Ryou felt his skin prickle. A lion, though lacking the stature a man, could easily kill with powerful teeth and claws; Ryou had no doubt that this King of Thieves could do the same with no weaponry save for his own hands. 

"Here you—“ the inn-keeper began; pulled up short. 

"Leave it," the Thief King told him. The inn-keeper set the food down and did as he was told. The Thief King glanced down at the two plates—a slight incline of his head, though his eyes were concealed by the cowl of his cloak—and asked, "Here with someone?" 

"Yes..." Ryou said. 

The Thief King picked up a piece of meat from one tray; ate it, languidly. "Is that so?" 

"I should..." Ryou began, making a move to pick up the plates. The Thief King caught his arm; his fingers were calloused, the skin itself almost rough enough to hurt, and Ryou froze. Then, without taking his eyes from Ryou's face, the Thief King released Ryou's arm; threaded his fingers, instead, through Ryou's silken hair—white, light even in contrast to his exotically pale skin. The King of Thieves lifted the strands; pressed them to his hidden face, taking in their sweet, almost floral scent. Ryou stayed perfectly still, heart beating painfully fast and eyes fixed on the thief who, oddly, didn't meet his gaze directly. Ryou could just make out his features in the shadows of the cowl. 

"You smell... lovely..." the thief breathed, a moment later. He let Ryou's hair fall, then, and gave Ryou's shoulder a startling and rough shove. "Run off, now! Get!" 

Ryou staggered, but managed to keep his feet. "I..." he began, before he knew exactly what he wanted to say. Regardless, he had no chance to figure it out. 

"Go on!" the Thief King snarled; bore his teeth. "You won't get another chance, you hear me?" 

Ryou nodded dumbly; picked up the plates, gave a quick bow, and then hurried off. He glanced back, though, and saw the Thief King watching him go.

... ... ... 

Ryou parted ways with the client that afternoon; returned to the man who had a firm hold on his neck. Ryou kept his head down, although he obliged when the client requested a farewell kiss.

"We've got something set up tonight, the other fellow from yesterday," the man said, flexing his grip slightly. Ryou nodded. "You okay to go ahead with it?" 

"Fine." 

"No damage?" 

"No." 

"Do you want anything? Wine?" 

"No. It's fine." 

"If you say so." 

The man took Ryou to a different inn—a nicer one, more expensive. While he sat and talked to the new client—indeed, the other man from the day before—Ryou took the opportunity to politely excuse himself. 

"Please. I'll go freshen myself up," he said, with a sweet smile. 

The man who held his neck gave permission; the other, the client, grinned. 

Ryou slipped off to the inn's washroom; the inn-keeper, recognizing him, waved him in easily. Ryou splashed cool water on his face; combed his hair out carefully, until it was free of even the smallest grain of sand. He applied a bit of scented oil to his wrists. 

And, upon exiting the washroom, he nearly collided with the King of Thieves. 

"We meet again," the thief said, with a toothy grin. The cowl of his hood was up, once again, hiding his eyes and most of the disfiguring scar. He reached out; ran a finger along Ryou's collar bone, and Ryou shivered. "Are you still with someone, tonight?" 

"I am," Ryou said softly, and the Thief King's head seemed to twitch—swung from side to side, for just a moment. His hand had settled on Ryou's shoulder. 

"That fellow you came in with? Is he your master?" 

Ryou stiffened. "I have no master." 

"Nonsense," the King of Thieves scoffed. "If you had no master, you'd be snatched up and sold off in a day. With skin and hair like yours? You're a rare commodity, an exotic, beautiful thing to be bought and sold for high prices." 

Ryou shook the Thief King's hand off. "I have no master. I chose the person I work for." 

"You might've chosen him, but now he owns you. Isn't that right?" 

"Like you said, I wouldn't have my freedom for long, otherwise," Ryou said, trying to maneuver past the other man. The Thief King blocked him casually. "I'm no fool." 

"Freedom?" The Thief King laughed. "Is that your idea of _freedom_? Not even selling yourself, but letting someone else do it?" 

"And what about you?" Ryou snapped. "You make a living on your reputation—a reputation of violence! If anyone knew the truth, they'd—!” 

Ryou cut himself off, and the King of Thieves made a soft sound of interest. "The truth? And what's the truth, exactly?" 

"You don't see well," Ryou said, his voice low. "It's obvious, with how your head moves, with how you keep that scar hidden. You won't chase people because you can't tell people apart, so when you fight you grab people and don't let go, so you won't loose track of your opponent. And you can see me, because..." 

The King of Thieves was silent, for a long moment, and then grabbed Ryou's wrist; Ryou cried out softly, but didn't shout. The Thief King pulled them closer together, gazing up at Ryou from within the shadows of his cowl. 

"I could kill you, for figuring all that out." 

"So do it." 

The Thief King scoffed; threw Ryou back, slightly. "Go on. Get! Go serve your master well." And he stepped aside. 

Ryou shifted, uncertain, then bolted. The Thief King didn't try to follow, but watched him hurry away. 

By the time Ryou returned to his table, he'd calmed the trembling of his hands. But the Thief King's scent had left him dizzy, and each place the Thief King had touched him—wrist, clavicle, shoulder—still tingled. 

Desensitized to touch as he was, that amazed and bewildered him. 

A deal had been reached, and so the client took him; the man he worked for left, his wrists decorated with new gold. And Ryou padded docilely behind the client, up to the room that had been rented, and wondered about his definition of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... 
> 
> I'M DOING SMOL TK IN THIS ONE. *throws confetti* *flings self off a cliff*  
> No but for real, it's a break from my usual character interpretation (although I do _love_ smol TKB things, I don't usually write him thus), and I decided it very last minute ~~possibly the moscato?~~ , so we'll see how this works. x"D 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon in the next chapter~


	2. Scars and Sweetbreads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another source of inspiration for this fic was actually [the song "Innocence" by Halestorm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYQm3898-eI). While there's little resemblance, plot-wise, I still feel the atmosphere of the story is pretty consistent with that of the song, so I thought I'd mention it here. That's also where the title comes from~ 
> 
> ~~smol thief~~
> 
> Thank you so much for the kind response to the first chapter! I so hope subsequent chapters live up to expectations~ They've been a blast to write, thus far, and I can't wait to share them!

Morning came, just as it always had. Ryou went to fetch breakfast, and was relived when he encountered no thieves. The client had his way once more, after they'd shared a nice meal, and then departed. Ryou, left alone in the fancy room, readied himself to meet with the man he worked for. He wondered if another client had been found for that night, and hoped not. 

While fixing his hair, he scowled suddenly at his reflection in the bronze mirror. The unappealing expression startled him, and he jerked back; abandoned his efforts regarding his hair and let it fall in disarray. He wondered if it would be so bad to leave it like that, but knew the man he worked for would be cross. He knew the man would take matters into his own hands, then, and likely pull Ryou’s hair painfully in the process of fixing it. 

When Ryou had made himself presentable—indeed, more than simply presentable, but preened and painted up prettily—he made his way downstairs. He waited for the man he worked for at a table in the inn's tavern, and sipped a glass of fresh milk. 

_What is... freedom? Freedom is being able to sit here and not worry about being grabbed by slave traders. Freedom is not having to beg for my meals. Freedom is being able to walk about and breath fresh air, and not be trapped behind brothel walls._

_Yes. I've made good choices, for myself. Given the circumstances._

A hand appeared on the nape of Ryou's neck. 

"You've got another client all lined up for tonight." 

Ryou closed his eyes; took a deep breath, and tried not to legitimize the doubts that the thief had raised in him. "Okay." 

"Any damages?" 

"No." 

"Good. You're good to go tonight, then?" 

"I am." 

"Excellent." 

Ryou's skin prickled suddenly, inexplicably, and his eyes snapped open; the hand tightened. A new voice spoke from behind him, husky and low.

"Hey. You own this kid?" 

"He works for me," was the terse reply. 

"Same thing, right?" the King of Thieves crooned, and then asked, "How much will you sell him for?" 

The hand tightened on Ryou's neck, even as his heart began to beat faster, then faster still. His chest felt tight, with panic and with some other sensation he couldn’t identify. 

"He's not up for sale." 

"That not what I'm asking." Now there was the subtle edge of threat in the Thief King's voice, and Ryou felt nails dig into his neck. "I'm asking how much. If something doesn't have a price, I just assume it's free and _take it_." 

The man took a long moment to answer, during which time Ryou couldn't manage to breathe. And, when the answer finally came, it was faint and slightly pained. "... Give me those chains. That's a bargain." 

The King of Thieves chuckled. "A _bargain_? My friend, one of these used to belong to the pharaoh himself." 

"That's a _bargain_ ," the man ground out, and Ryou grew dizzy with the pressure on his throat as the hand shifted. "This kid makes that much in a week." 

"I won't be selling him off, so you'll still be making the profit," the Thief King said, and there was a weighty jangle. "Here. You're right, it is a bargain. You’re a generous man, aren’t you?” 

The hand released Ryou and he gasped; managed not to cough. The man moved slightly around the table, into his line of vision, and Ryou's eyes grew round at the jewelry he held. They were thick gold chains, one encrusted with silver and the other studded with every kind of gemstone Ryou had heard of. Still, the man he had worked for—no longer worked for, it seemed—looked sore. He didn't glance at Ryou, not once, but kept his eyes on the Thief King as he backed out of the establishment; tucked the chains into his vest, and vanished onto the street. 

The King of Thieves laughed—a full-bodied, derisive laugh. "What a spineless shit," he growled, then thudded down into the chair beside Ryou; pushed his hood back so it sat atop his head, leaving his face visible. He looked Ryou appraisingly up and down, as if he could see in any detail. "So. I'm your new master, it seems." 

"I have no master." 

"Oh? I just purchased you from a fellow who clearly thought he had the right to sell you. If he could sell you, though, that must mean he _owned_ you first, right? And I just bought you from him, so now _I_ own you.” 

Ryou bit the inside of his cheek, but didn't answer. 

The King of Thieves looked perturbed, when Ryou was silent. "Listen, I was telling him the truth. I'm not looking to make a profit, or anything like that. I did this because you caught _my_ eye, because _I_ wanted you. Got that?" 

Ryou nodded, a shallow little movement of the head. His heart pounded, and he was short of breath despite the lack of pressure on his throat. "Right... If that's what's happened, then its fine..." 

The Thief King motioned to the inn-keeper; ordered wine. The inn-keeper gave Ryou an uncertain glance, but obeyed. 

"Besides, you've figured out my secret," the Thief King said, once the inn-keeper had gone, and gave a toothy grin. "Can't just let you run around _free_." 

Ryou didn't flinch; only nodded. "Of course..." 

Again the Thief King seemed perturbed, and thanked the inn-keeper when he returned. He poured them both a bowl of wine, and Ryou noticed how carefully he handled the dishes. 

"Drink. It'll help." 

"No thank you." Ryou kept his voice steady, with some effort. "I make a point not to indulge in such things." 

The Thief King frowned. "What, do you think I'd do a thing like get you drunk? Try to take advantage? You're way too smart for that. And I don't need to resort to that sort of thing, anyway. You are _mine_ now, remember." 

Ryou stiffened; said, "I just don't. It's nothing personal." 

"Fine. Teaches me." The Thief King drank his own wine, deeply; didn't speak again. Ryou watched him, subtly, and observed how he felt about on the table for his bowl each time he picked it up, so as to avoid knocking it over. He saw how the Thief King kept his head tilted, either to one side or the other, to sharpen his hearing. He watched as the Thief King's head twitched whenever movement caught his eye, and wondered exactly what the man could and couldn't make out. 

"Are you hungry?" the Thief King asked, so suddenly that Ryou jumped. "I didn't even think... I mean, I'll go get something." 

Ryou watched, a bit bewildered, as the Thief King rose and hurried over to the bar. Ryou glanced at the door, aware that he could run but also knowing that the King of Thieves would find him—of all people, the Thief King would chase after _him_. 

_This morning... I considered myself free... but could I have left then, if I had wanted to?_ The thought struck Ryou suddenly, as he gazed toward the door. _This morning... was just the same as right now. The only difference is the identity of the one who would come after me._ He glanced over at the Thief King, who had his back turned. _Would you hurt me, when you caught me again?_ He didn't know the answer; didn't know if he should fear the King of Thieves in the same way he had feared the man who gripped his thin neck with such force as to sometimes leave bruises. 

The thief in question returned after a moment, food in hand, and Ryou observed how low he kept his feet—almost scuffing them along. He put one hand, too, deliberately on the back of his chair before sitting down. 

"Eat up," he said, and it didn't sound like much of a command. Ryou, though not particularly hungry, obliged him, and the Thief King looked genuinely pleased. He tucked into his own food, and said, "I'll take good care of you. Better than that coward you were working for, okay?" 

"I don't need anyone to take care of me..." Ryou mumbled, and quietly ate his food. 

When the meal had been finished, the Thief King rose; motioned for Ryou to do the same. Ryou, conditioned to obedience, followed. He was struck, once again, by the Thief King's unexpectedly small frame; his red robe, which lent him a sense of grandeur, brushed the ground behind him. The Thief King led Ryou to a room, furnished simply with a bed in one corner, a comfortable chair beside that bed, and a small table with two chairs in the center. A curtained-off opening in one wall clearly led to a washroom. The Thief King closed the door behind them and then strode over to the chair; thudded down into it. Ryou remained standing. 

“Relax. Sit down,” the Thief King said, but Ryou did not obey. The Thief King sighed. “Look, I’m not _that_ scary. What’s your name, anyway?” 

“... Ryou.” 

“Ryou. I’m Bakura. See? The Thief King has a name. I’m human. Mortal.” Thief King Bakura spread his arms. “I’m no demon, alright?” 

“I know...” Ryou whispered. “But sometimes humans can be even worse than demons.” 

“Isn’t _that_ the truth...” Bakura murmured, much to Ryou’s surprise. He pulled his hood entirely down and shook his head furiously; Ryou noticed that his hair was matted with sand in a couple of spots. 

“Why the scar?” Ryou asked, and Bakura looked over at him. 

“Eh?” 

“Your scar,” Ryou repeated, and then said, “There isn’t any visible damage to your eyes themselves, but it’s hard to believe there’s _no_ relation between the scar and your vision.” 

The King of Thieves scoffed. “Don’t ask me personal questions. It’ll just try my patience. And here's a tip: I’m not a patient person.” 

Ryou cringed, but said, “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine. But you haven’t got the right to tell me what I can and can’t ask.” 

Bakura rose; approached him, and Ryou took a step backwards. He held the Thief King’s gaze, though—an intense gaze, despite its lack of accuracy and slight upward tilt. 

“It’s not wise for a pet to challenge their master.” 

“I’m no pet. And you aren’t my master.” 

The Thief King laughed—a harsh sound that made Ryou’s hair rise. “Come here. I’ll tell you how I got the scar.” 

At Thief King Bakura’s motion, a brusque jerk of the head, Ryou slunk over to the room’s single bed, hemmed in by walls on two sides. When Bakura bade him lie down, he obeyed. 

“When I was small,” the Thief King growled, climbing up over Ryou, “I fished in the Nile, often. Caught fish to eat. One day, I fell in.” He used one hand to trap Ryou's wrists above his head, and the other to pull one side Ryou’s tunic down over his shoulder. He bent his head, hot breath clinging to Ryou's skin, and then bit the exposed collar bone; Ryou drew a sharp breath. “Something got in my eyes." His voice was muffled. "Sickness.” He sucked; bit harder until he drew blood. Ryou remained silent, tense and perfectly still. “They hurt. A lot. I went a bit mad. Scratched them. Tried to cut the right one out just to make it _stop_.” 

Ryou’s eyes widened, and he pushed Bakura suddenly back by his shoulders. But before the King of Thieves could get properly angry, over the assault, Ryou touched the scar with tender fingertips; traced it. 

“You did this...?” 

Bakura fell still, unable to continue or, at least immediately, to pull away. “Yeah. Doesn’t that scare you? That I could go _that_ mad? That I might again?” 

Ryou shook his head, genuinely bewildered by the questions. “No. You were in pain. And small, you said. You were going _blind_. That type of madness is highly circumstantial. It doesn’t last, and it doesn’t return without very good reason.” 

Bakura withdrew; sat back, across Ryou’s hips, heavily, and gave a breathy little chuckle. A moment later, he climbed off the bed and instead settled into the chair. 

Ryou sat up; asked, “Didn’t you want to...?”

“I’m not some damn client,” Bakura grumbled. “Go patch your neck. There’s medicines in the washroom.”

Ryou obeyed.

... ... ... 

They spent the afternoon in silence. The Thief King seemed content to sit on the bed, staring out the window, although Ryou wondered what he could actually see.

“Wait here,” was the first thing Bakura said, after hours had passed. Ryou did as he was told, and didn’t raise his head from where it rested on his folded arms atop the table. 

When Bakura returned, it was with two plates of supper, milk, and wine. He set the milk down first; offered wine, but didn’t argue when Ryou declined. Then he returned to the bed and busied himself with his own meal. 

“I don’t mind,” Ryou said eventually, picking at his food. 

“Eh?” 

“If you want to do things like that. Like earlier. That’s how I live. We talked about freedom before, didn’t we? That’s how I kept my freedom. So, if you do that, too... it might not feel like I’ve lost that freedom.” 

“You haven’t lost anything.” The response surprised Ryou, and he looked up. The Thief King was still staring out the window. “That wasn’t freedom. I’ll show you what freedom is, if you want. But you might die.” 

Ryou felt a chill despite the dusty desert warmth. “What? What does that mean?” 

The Thief King shrugged, then pulled down one side of his red robe; there was a deep rut of a scar across his shoulder. “Years ago. I stole a horse. That’s from the owner’s whip.” 

Ryou, uncertain, kept his silence. 

“Freedom means you might die,” the Thief King said. “Freedom and security are opposites. You can’t have both. You’ve been living with security, right? There are things you can take for granted, like a bed and food to eat. Right?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s not freedom. You’ve sold your freedom for that safety.” 

“I’ve sold things, certainly, but not _that_.” 

“But you have," Bakura said. "You’re here now, with me, because I bought you—that’s proof that you don’t have _any_ control over your own destiny. What sane person would describe freedom like that?” 

Ryou tried to argue, but he’d been bested—loathe to admit it as he was, he had no answer. What the King of Thieves had said was true. 

So, for lack of argument, he said, “So the same goes for you, then. When was the last time you went hungry or slept on the ground, King?” 

He expected the question to be inflammatory, but Bakura didn’t respond with anger or even annoyance. Instead he laughed softly; said, “You’re right. I’ve starved plenty, and I’m done with it. But if I had to again, or else give up my freedom, I would. Even if it killed me, I’d never submit to someone else’s will.” 

Ryou considered that; nodded, and finished his meal. Then, after some time had passed, he asked, “Why did you buy me?” 

“Because I wanted to.” 

“Why, though?” 

Bakura took a long drink of wine; exhaled. “Because I wanted you. You’re pretty, and I don’t get to _see_ pretty things very often. And you had stupid ideas about being free, so I thought I’d prove you wrong.” 

“That’s a bit cruel.” 

“The world _is_ cruel. And you’ll sure never fall for anything like that again, will you?” 

“If you hadn’t...” 

“The same thing I did, people were doing every damn night. You know that’s true.” 

And again, Ryou couldn’t argue. 

"You have any scars?" Bakura asked, after a moment. "Any signs of struggle? Of life?"

Ryou nodded; held out his hand. The Thief King gave him a sardonic smirk. 

"You know sure as Thoth's luck that I can't see that."

Ryou's lips curled up, just slightly, and he rose; paced over to the bed. When Bakura took his hand, it was with surprising care, and his fingertips came almost immediately upon the knot of scar tissue on Ryou's palm. His eyebrows rose, and he ran his thumb over the back of Ryou's hand, confirming that the wound had pierced through both sides. 

"That's a nasty one," he said, sounding impressed. Ryou nodded. "How'd you come by it?"

"It's a sign of struggle," Ryou replied, and gently pulled his hand back. Bakura allowed it, and let the matter drop.

The Thief King took the dishes back down to the inn kitchen—returned with honey-drenched sweetbreads and left some on the table. After he’d eaten a few himself and finished off the wine, he laid down; the sun was beginning to set, but the room was still fairly bright. 

“You’ll sleep on the floor, tonight,” he told Ryou. “Ever had to do that, before?” 

“Back at home.”

Bakura was silent, for a moment, and then shrugged. “It’s been a while, then. You could do with the reminder.” 

And so Ryou slept on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are, as always, so appreciated! <3 See you soon in the next chapter!


	3. See Me, Know Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best, I 100% mean that--thank you for sticking with me! Q^Q Here's chapter three~

When morning came, Ryou offered to fetch breakfast. The Thief King informed him that it would’ve been a better idea to run off in the night, if he was going to try, and Ryou indulged in momentary indignation. 

“I always bring breakfast up," he said, by way of defense. "Ask the inn-keeper. He knows.” 

“Stop acting like I’m a client,” was the Thief King’s gruff reply. He leaned in, then, and examined the mark on Ryou’s collarbone; probed at it with one thumb, and Ryou winced. “Didn’t you use any of that salve? I told you there were medicines in the washroom, damn it!” 

Ryou allowed himself to be pulled, by one wrist, into the washroom. The Thief King sniffed at a couple of jars before he found the one he was looking for, then smeared a liberal amount onto the bite-wound. He rubbed it in, gently and thoroughly, with calloused fingertips. Ryou held dutifully still, head growing light with the Thief King’s peculiar scent—dusty, like the open desert, but also with a powerful, distinctly human musk to it. Bakura’s head was bent, bringing the mats in his hair into close view. They didn’t, upon inspection, seem terribly dirty, simply unkempt and hopelessly tangled. From the unevenness of it, Ryou guessed he cut his own hair, lack of eyesight be damned. 

“There.” Satisfied, Bakura drew back; gave Ryou’s back a light, awkward pat. “I’ll be back, then.” 

Once the thief was gone, Ryou craned his neck to examine the injury—it was smaller than he had accounted for, hardly cause for concern. _Unless there are any diseases I should be worried about... and if that’s the case, there’s nothing to do about it, really..._

When the Thief King returned, they ate together at the small table; exchanged few words, and those that they did were purely utilitarian. 

Then, quite suddenly, the Thief King said, “I do miss it—the day-to-day uncertainty. The adventure. But I don’t miss being hungry. Starvation isn’t how I want to die.” 

“Understandable,” was all Ryou could think to say. And he meant it. But he was saddened by the haunted look he glimpsed in the damaged eyes of the Thief King. 

“You won’t starve, as long as you’re mine. I want you to know that.” 

“I... thank you, I suppose.” 

“I didn’t buy you so I could be cruel. I don’t get off on that.” 

“You do have quite the reputation as a killer, though.” 

Bakura laughed harshly, and Ryou jumped. “I’m a thief, first—King of Thieves. I’m only a killer when I have to be. Besides, you said it yourself—anyone spends more than a few minutes with me and they’re libel to guess that my eyes don’t work so well. Can’t let that happen. Then I’d be an easy mark.” 

“I don’t know about ‘easy...’” Ryou murmured; he stood, and began to stack the dishes. 

Again Bakura laughed; leaned back, letting his chair tip onto two legs. “If people knew, they’d figure out a way to take advantage.” 

“It’s not as if you’re _blind_.” 

“Practically. I can’t tell if someone is armed, for instance.” Bakura leaned forward again, the chair grounding itself with a _thump_ , and held out both his hands with palms upturned. “I have to assume they have a knife in both hands, because I can’t see whether they do or not. I can’t judge whether someone is strong or weak by how they look, so I have to fight everyone with all my power from the start. And when multiple opponents come at me, I get confused—I lose track of how many there are, and I certainly can’t tell them apart. See? Lots of weaknesses to exploit, if you know they’re there.” 

“Why are you telling _me_?” 

“Because you figured it out. The worst has already happened.” 

Ryou thought, then asked, “So why haven’t you killed me?” 

“Because I like you." Bakura's lips twitched upward. "You’re pretty, and you’re clever. So I thought I’d own you, instead of killing you.” 

“Seems dangerous.” 

“It’s only dangerous if you turn on me. Which wouldn’t be too smart, considering I’d be able to find you, of all people, anywhere. And I know you’re smart.” 

“You could only find me if you were alive.”

Bakura laughed. “It would take a lot to kill me—more than you could do.” 

“That’s true. I’m no killer.” Ryou had stopped fiddling with the dishes; he looked down at where the Thief King was still sitting. “But with what I know, it wouldn’t be hard to find someone who could do it.” 

“You’re bad at bluffing,” Bakura said. 

“What If I’m not bluffing?” 

In a flash, the Thief King was up; had grabbed Ryou’s wrist. He twisted down, and used his grip there to slam Ryou into the wall. Ryou gasped, but didn’t cry out. 

"You're _mine_ , now..." Bakura’s voice was low—laden heavy with danger. He stretched up, bringing his face in close to Ryou’s ear, nose brushing white hair. “I can use you as I please. I can look after you. Or I can kill you. It’s my call. You’ve got _nothing_ to say or do about that.” 

Ryou held steady; didn't flinch, and didn't whimper. He took a deep breath, then replied, "I know that." 

The Thief King chuckled roughly. "Then consider the fact that everything you say could be your very last words. Do you really want 'What if I’m not bluffing?’ to be the last thing you ever say?" 

"It is what it is," Ryou whispered. 

The Thief King sneered; began, "You're—“ but cut off suddenly. He turned; dropped back, just a bit, though his grip didn’t lessen. His face was intent, and Ryou kept instinctively silent. "He's coming... shit!" Jerking Ryou away from the wall, the Thief King shoved him in the back; hissed, "Under the bed! Get! Now!" 

Heeding the urgency in the thief's rough voice, Ryou obeyed; crawled under the bed, and wriggled around; scooted back until he hit the far wall, and then stared out toward the door. He saw Bakura take a seat in the chair beside the bed, and then the door creaked open. 

"Where in _Bast_ have you been?" Bakura snarled, before the newcomer was more than a step inside. "We were supposed to meet up _days_ ago!" 

The newcomer chuckled; shut the door before answering. "I found some interesting little toys on the way here. I had to stop and play." 

"What are you, a child? Don't be so damn distractible!" 

"Don't be so hostile," the newcomer said, his voice a throaty chortle. "Here. I brought treats." 

Bakura grunted, but didn't speak again. Ryou saw the newcomer's feet approach the chair, then pace away once more. 

"How glutinous," the newcomer commented, with a giddy chuckle, and plates clattered against one another. "Two breakfasts?" For a moment, Ryou stiffened—took the comment as suspicion, on the newcomer's part. But then he continued, sounding genuinely amused. "And now you're scarfing _that_ down like some starving stray dog! Fantastic!" 

"I _exist_ for your amusement." Bakura's sarcastic voice was muffled. "Yeah, fuck off."

Again the newcomer laughed; said, scornfully, "You aren't as tough as everyone thinks." 

"I don't need you anymore, Marik," Bakura spat. "You stick around because it suits you. _Tell me_ I'm wrong." 

"Oh, you're not wrong," the other, Marik, replied, then chuckled darkly. The sound of it made Ryou's insides curdle, and he swallowed hard against a whimper. "But I also know you won't act against me." 

"I won't. But that doesn't mean I like this you." 

Again Marik chuckled, and shifted. "The Pharaoh is on time. He'll be here day after tomorrow." 

"I know." There was an edge to Bakura's voice, and Ryou suddenly realized that the Thief King may not want him to hear certain things. He leaned slightly, involuntarily, forward, but was disappointed when Marik didn't elaborate. 

"I'll be back at sundown." Marik's feet moved toward the door, his steps short and deliberate. 

"Where are you headed?" Bakura asked. 

"You're not my keeper," was the chortled reply, and then the door had opened; snapped shut. There were a few beats of silence, and then Bakura let out an audible sigh. 

"He's gone, really. Come out." 

Ryou obeyed, brushing himself off. Bakura still sat, gazing off distractedly toward the door. In his lap was a basket of fruit, a noticeable dent in the pile and one fig half-eaten. 

“I was bluffing,” Ryou mumbled, and the Thief King nodded. 

“I know.”

"Who was that?" 

The Thief King glanced up, seeming almost bewildered. "Marik. He's a good friend of mine." 

Ryou blinked. "Friend? It didn't sound that way..." 

Bakura shook his head; returned to his unseeing gazing at the door. "Not that Marik. The other one. There are two. The Light would like you, probably. You’d get on good, I think. But the Dark, you’d be nothing but a fun new toy, to him." 

Ryou shivered, sensing the truth in the words even if he couldn't quite comprehend them. "I don't... understand. The Light and the Dark? Are those the two Mariks?" 

Bakura nodded slowly. "Dark Marik and I have a... working relationship. Light Marik and I are good friends." 

"I... wasn't aware the Thief King had friends." 

Bakura nodded once again; seemed to speak more to himself than Ryou as he said, "He saved me... Marik did. The Light one. I was dead. We were both too young. The world was cruel." 

"But... there are two of him?" 

"I can tell." Bakura glanced suddenly at Ryou, who stiffened; wondered if he'd pushed too far. But all Bakura said was, "I don't know how—it's not a scent, or a sound, and I sure can't _see_ anything... but I can always tell which one is in control." 

"He's your friend," Ryou said. "You know him." 

Bakura laughed at that, softly; held out the basket. "Want any?" 

For the sake of accepting what appeared to be a gesture, Ryou picked up a date; examined it. "Why did you tell me to hide?" 

"I told you—Dark Marik would make a toy out of you." There was an edge to Bakura's voice, and Ryou couldn't quite tell if it was directed at him or at the absent Marik. 

"That's what he said delayed him—‘interesting little toys.' What does that mean?" 

"It means he stopped to torture someone," Bakura said, and Ryou tensed. "He does that. The Dark one. Not the Light one. The Light one can kill you, if he wants to, for sure, but only if he’s got reason to. The Dark one will torture you, just for fun. I've seen him drag one out for three days. He hardly even slept, himself, got so caught up in it.” 

Though it was somewhat of a struggle to draw breath, Ryou managed a soft, "I see." 

The Thief King chuckled, then stood; stretched, and set the basket of fruit on the chair. "Why do they say I don't chase people? Why do they say that?" 

"They say it's because you're lazy," Ryou replied. 

"I'm feeling _especially_ lazy today, Ryou. Today, I couldn't even be bothered to chase _you_." And, having said that, the Thief King laid down; turned his back, and apparently went to sleep.

... ... ... 

Ryou sat at the table for a long time; watched the steady rise and fall of the Thief King’s chest. He wondered if Bakura was truly asleep; the thief didn’t seem to be the type who slept so easily.

 _He... gave me permission. I can leave._

Ryou glanced from the Thief King to the door; wondered what was beyond it. The man who had held his neck—then sold him, upon a threat from the King of Thieves—was out there somewhere. There were many others like him out there. Ryou looked back toward the bed, at the thief apparently asleep there. Thief King Bakura lay curled slightly in on himself, making him appear even smaller than he was. He seemed benign, like that, but Ryou knew better. 

_If I leave now, I'll probably never see him again..._

Ryou took a gold bangle off the table; left, and returned with two plates of supper from the inn kitchen. 

It was the first time within memory that Ryou had made a decision entirely by himself, for himself. If the Thief King was surprised that he had stayed, he didn't show it. 

"We're going to kill the Pharaoh." 

Bakura said it as if commenting on the weather, and Ryou tried to respond accordingly. "Oh." 

Bakura took a bite of his food. "'Oh?' Is that all?" 

Ryou shrugged. "What should I say?" 

"Probably more than 'oh.'" The Thief King smirked. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Nothing," Ryou said, mildly affronted. "You're the one who's planning to kill the Pharaoh." 

The Thief King laughed at that—a startlingly warm, full-bodied laugh. Ryou felt himself flush hot with something like pleasure. "You're right... you're right, I am." 

"Why are you telling me?" 

Bakura didn't answer right away, and for a moment they ate in silence. Then he said, quietly, "Because you stayed. So I figured I'd better level with you." 

Ryou tried to find the correct response, and settled on, "I... appreciate that." 

"We're going to do it tomorrow, when he comes through this town." 

"You and Marik?" 

"Mm. Me and Marik." 

"The Dark one or the Light one?" 

"They're both in on it." 

"And you?" 

Bakura laughed. "I'm the one who came up with the idea." 

"Why?" 

The Thief King fell still for a moment; stared at Ryou, a strange look on his face. He seemed almost relieved—almost pleased. But there was a bitter edge of pain to the expression that kept it from being anything too pleasant. 

"You don't have to tell me," Ryou said quietly. "This is enough." 

"It's because the pharaoh's men killed my parents." 

Ryou jumped. "Your... parents?" 

Bakura nodded. "Wasn't born an orphan," he muttered. "No one's born an orphan." 

"I'm sorry." 

Bakura shook his head. "It was a long time ago. But it was the pharaoh... he... My parents were thieves. Whole family was. So the pharaoh's guards showed up at our door one day, looking for some stolen goods. My father hid me inside a basket, and they didn't find me—but I saw. I saw the whole thing, through the weave of that basket. I saw my parents beheaded. Didn't make a damn sound. Little kid or not, they would've killed me, too—I believe that. Nothing honorable or righteous about them, the pharaoh's men. We didn’t even have their damn jewels. They _laughed_.” 

"I'm so sorry..." Ryou said again; almost reached for Bakura's hand, but stopped just short. Instead, he slid his hand across the table, palm-up. The knot of scar tissue there was ruddy against his near-white skin. "This is from a slave trader's dagger." 

Bakura looked up; blinked, visibly shocked. "What?" 

Ryou nodded. "Slave traders... they came to my home. My father fought them, so they killed him. My mother pleaded with them, so they killed her. My sister tried to run, so they killed her. I... cowered. And I was the only one who looked like this, so they didn’t kill me. I tried to get away... so they ran my hand through with a dagger to pin me to the ground. They didn’t think I’d have the wherewithal to just... pull it out. But I did. So I got away.” 

Bakura was silent for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together and eyes fixed on Ryou's hand. Then he reached out; placed his fingertips in Ryou's palm, and traced the old wound. 

"Most people couldn've done that. They'd've given up, with a dagger through their hand, and given in." 

Ryou shrugged, although he didn't pull away. His fingers twitched. "Survival instinct... is a strong thing..." 

"It wasn't that. You would've survived, if you'd given up. They wouldn't've killed you. They would've done worse—they would've taken away that freedom you keep talking about. That's why you were able to get away." 

Ryou looked at him in surprise, but the Thief King didn't take his eyes from their hands. A moment later, Bakura curled his fingers around Ryou's and held on, gently. 

They sat for a time, hands interlocked, but eventually withdrew; both finished their meals, and Ryou rose automatically to collect the dishes.

"Why did you have to be you?" 

Ryou glanced over; the Thief King's eyes were closed, his head tilted back. "I'm sorry, what?" 

Bakura's eyes opened, and he shifted them towards Ryou. It was a lazy, half-lidded look, and one side of his mouth curled up just a bit. "You," he said, as if that would clarify. When Ryou simply stared at him, he chuckled. "You caught my attention because of how you looked. But you've _kept_ it because of who you are. It would be easier on both of us if that wasn't the case. I didn't think this through, long-term... didn't think it'd _be_ long term..." 

Ryou hesitated, then lowered his head; took the dishes down to the innkeeper, then returned to the Thief King's room. Bakura had settled in on the bed, sprawled out on his back with his legs stretched out and his arms behind his head. 

"So you're okay with us plotting to kill the Pharaoh?" he asked. 

Ryou shrugged. "I don't know if it'll be for the best, long term, but I don't take any issue with it personally." 

"What a judicious answer..." Bakura rumbled, then said, "I'll introduce you to Marik, then. Next time his Light side is out." 

"And the next time his Dark side is out?" Ryou asked, a bit warily. "Then he'll know about me." 

"True. But if the Light likes you, the Dark won't hurt you. He might get a little nasty, call you names, threaten you, but he won't hurt you if the Light side likes you. They have to coexist in one body, after all. They can only act so different, before a breaking point is reached. They both know that, and since the Light is the original, the Dark usually ends up giving more ground." 

Ryou processed that; said, "I see. Okay." 

"If you're going to stick around with me," Bakura said, "you'll have to meet him. If you're going to stick around." 

"Mm. Okay." Ryou stepped slowly over to the chair; eased himself down into it. 

Bakura didn't stir, but said, "I'll move. Later. You'll sleep here."


	4. What the Thief King Bought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams this chapter down on the table* 
> 
> RL's been killing me, apologies. Also apologies because my chapter lengths are coming out a little wonky, so this one's kinda short. :/ But I hope it's enjoyable, regardless!! ;w; Thank you for your readership, as always~!

Some time later, Bakura raised his head; with his eyes still closed, it was an eerie motion. Though Ryou hadn't noticed anything, he came to attention. 

"Marik." Bakura didn't open his eyes, but sat up on the bed; jerked his head toward the small washroom. "The Light one. Go wait in there, just in case." 

Ryou nodded before realizing the other couldn't see it. "Okay. You're sure?” 

Bakura's eyes opened; found Ryou. "If you're going to stay." 

And so Ryou trotted to the washroom; pulled the curtain shut. 

A few moments later, the door opened; a new voice said, with a trace of humor, "Well, don't you just look comfortable?" 

Ryou's eyes widened a bit. Though the voice was recognizable, it was missing the chortling quality that the other had had. It was unmistakably a human voice. 

"Yeah," Bakura replied. "Gotta take it easy while we can, right?" 

"Right." There was the sound of footsteps, and the bed creaked. "Brought you something." 

"Thanks." 

"Are you ready? Really?" Marik's voice was surprisingly soft; gentle. "You want to go through with this?" 

"I've told you." 

"Yeah... you did." 

There was a period of silence, and then the bed creaked again; when the Thief King spoke, his voice had moved to the far side of the room. "Ey, Marik... so, I bought something." 

Marik chuckled. "You _bought_ something? The _King of Thieves_ actually purchased something?" 

"Ha. I was waiting for you, asshole. I didn't want to make so much trouble that they ran me out of town." 

"Okay... so you bought something." 

"I got bored. Waiting for you." 

Again Marik laughed. "Okay. So what? The suspense is killing me." 

"Don't freak." 

"What did you buy?" 

"I'll... show you." 

Taking that as his cue, Ryou stepped out. Bakura looked immediately at him; it took Marik, on the bed, another moment to glance over, and his eyes widened accordingly. 

"Oh..." 

"I got bored," was Bakura's immediate, gruff defense. 

Marik stood, and Ryou took a reflexive step backwards. But Marik's expression wasn't hostile; it was, instead, open and amazed. 

"Wow... wow! He's so pretty!" 

"He is..." Bakura murmured, and Marik glanced over at him. Then he whipped back around to Ryou, a smile splitting his face. 

"Oh Kek! You can _see_ him!" Then, to Ryou, "He can _see_ you!" 

"That is why he caught my attention..." Bakura admitted. 

Marik nodded emphatically. "That's amazing! I'm Marik!" he said, offering his hand. When Ryou accepted it, Marik clasped his hand with both of his. "Brave kid! Are you okay? This brute didn't hurt you or anything, did he?" 

Ryou shook his head. "No... no, he's been... good." 

Marik laughed. "He's not so bad, once you get past the bluster. He's gotta be like that, though, you know." 

"I know..." 

"Marik..." Bakura growled a warning and stalked over to them, reaching up to place a hand on Marik's shoulder. Marik chuckled; dropped Ryou's hand. 

"Whoops. Was I touching your new jewel for too long?" 

"Shut up," Bakura growled, giving him a light shove. 

Marik laughed, then turned back to Ryou. "You know, then? About his eyes?" 

Ryou nodded. "I... yes..." 

"I didn't tell him. He figured it out," Bakura said. 

"Wow!" Marik held out his arms. "That's why I wear these, you know!" he said, clearly referring to a set of golden cuffs that covered most of his forearms. He also wore two smaller armlets on his upper arms, and a wide gold collar on his neck. "Can't miss me, right?" 

Ryou nodded. "I see..." 

"So, are you going to keep him, for a while?" Marik asked, turning back to Bakura. "If it was a one-off thing, I don’t think you’d be introducing us, right?” 

"He hasn't run off." Bakura looked pleased, Ryou imagined, as he said it; from the way Marik's smile widened, the other thief noticed, too. "I've given him plenty of chance." 

"If that's okay," Ryou said, and Marik turned back to him. 

"Of course! Welcome aboard!" Then he hesitated; asked, "Has Bakura told you? What we're planning?" 

Ryou nodded. 

For a moment, Marik stood stunned. Then, once again, he laughed. "And you _still_ haven't run off? Exactly how much of a chance have you given him, Bakura?" 

"Took a nap, this afternoon. Practically gave him permission." 

"It's not like I have anywhere I'd rather go," Ryou said. "I want to stay." 

His own insistence startled him, and, from their expressions, it startled the two thieves as well. Then Bakura was the one to laugh; smile, warmly. 

"See?" he asked Marik. "I told you." 

"I see!" Marik exclaimed, then approached Ryou again. "Sorry! Didn't catch your name." 

"Ryou." 

"Nice to meet you, Ryou." Again Marik took his hand; kissed it's back, although Bakura growled. "And don't worry—I'll make sure my Dark side doesn't cause you any grief." When Ryou only nodded, in response, Marik turned to Bakura. "You told him, then? About the other me?" 

Bakura looked uncomfortable, but said, "Yeah. Had to have him hide when you came in, earlier." 

"Aah..." Marik sighed, scratching at the back of his head. "Sorry." 

"He seemed riled up, Dark You." Bakura took a step forward; looked up at Marik, the intensity in his eyes belying their relatively uselessness. "Are you okay? Is he giving you trouble?" 

Marik shook his head, then ran his fingers through Bakura's hair; the Thief King gave a startled growl and sprang away. "When are you going to let me comb out those mats? They're getting bad again." 

"Don't change the subject," Bakura muttered, then stormed around Marik to the bed. There was a basket of bread sitting there—brought by Marik, no doubt. Bakura picked up a piece and tore into it, then offered the basket to Ryou. "Want?" 

Ryou nodded—again, for the sake of accepting the gesture—and took a piece; held it, though feeling it wasn't exactly an appropriate time to eat it. 

Marik chuckled; patted Ryou's shoulder, and Ryou jumped. "Sorry, neither of us are really any good at this." 

"That's... it's fine," Ryou murmured, as Bakura thudded into the chair. "I don't mind."

"Where'd you come from? Bakura said he... _bought_ you?" Marik prompted gently. 

"Don't be an ass, Marik," Bakura growled. "You can figure it out." 

"I could be wrong," Marik objected. "You've never had any interest in that sort of thing before." 

"You already said it—I can _see_ him." Bakura leaned back; propped one foot up on the opposite knee. "That's not something that's ever happened, before." 

"I don't think that's all," Marik said. "That _can't_ be all, I don't think." 

"Don't worry about it, Marik," Bakura said, in a tone that clearly signaled the end of the conversation. Marik seemed to understand; shut up, obligingly, and went to pour himself a glass of wine from the jug sitting on the table. 

Then, after a few moments, Ryou asked, "Marik, what is your definition of freedom?" 

Bakura looked up, clearly surprised, as Marik hummed thoughtfully. "Freedom? ... Ah, I see. Bakura has some interesting thoughts on the subject, doesn't he?" 

Ryou nodded. "He does. So do I." 

"I see..." Marik murmured again; leaned back against the table. "So what's _my_ definition? Similar to Bakura's, I think. Freedom is being able to decide how you live your own life. I don't think that means you have to make every decision by yourself, though. I take my cue from Bakura a lot, and even from Dark Me, and I don't think of myself as any less free for it. Freedom and independence aren't exactly the same thing." 

Ryou nodded slowly. "I... could agree, with that." 

"So, which of you is changing the other one's mind more?" Marik asked. 

Bakura and Ryou glanced at one another; both shrugged, and looked away. 

Marik chuckled. "I see... Seems about right."

... ... ... 

Ryou slept in the bed, at Bakura's order. Marik curled up willingly on the floor, with some blankets, and Bakura reclined in the chair. For half the night they stayed like that, undisturbed. Then, sometime slightly after midnight, Ryou was woken by a shifting of the mattress. 

"I can't stand it..." The Thief King's voice was raspy; close to his ear. Ryou stiffened. "I bought you, right? So I'm entitled to do this. You said it was okay, didn’t you?” 

Ryou didn't move, but said, "Yes. Of course." 

The Thief King rolled him gently over; buried his face in the crook of Ryou's neck, and breathed deeply. Ryou wrapped his arms dutifully around the Thief King's shoulders; felt the wiry strength there, and wondered at it. Bakura's muscles were knotted, painfully tense; he felt even smaller than Ryou would have thought. 

"Are you okay...?" 

The Thief King stilled. He didn't reply, but sighed; kissed Ryou's neck, and then slumped down, breaking the loose hold that Ryou had on him. Ryou made a questioning sound as the Thief King lay beside him, trapping one of Ryou's arms beneath him. 

"Gods... go back to sleep." 

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" 

Bakura gave a gruff chuckle. "You're not just some whore. I thought I could pretend, for a second, but... No, you didn't do anything wrong." 

"I'm sorry. Do you want to—?" 

"No." Bakura cut him off, then said, "No. It's fine. I'll just... it's fine. Someday, maybe. Not like this. Sorry. Go to sleep." 

And so Ryou closed his eyes; tried to obey, despite the slow loss of feeling in his right arm. He felt the Thief King's breathing ease and deepen, but still didn't have the heart to try to remove his trapped limb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always brighten my day _impossibly_ , so please don't hesitate if you're so inclined! See you soon in the next chapter~


	5. The Lives of Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter~ apologies for the wait! Thank you for your support and readership~

"Ooh, look who had some fun last night!" 

Marik's harsh voice jarred Ryou from sleep, and Bakura, still lying beside him, growled. 

“Oh Ammit, it’s _you_...” Bakura muttered. “Go away...” 

“Nah. I think I'll stick around for a while." 

“I like the other you, better..." 

“Then why don't you suck _his_ dick instead of your cute little whore's?" 

“Aah... just shut up. I'll hit you. The other you never holds it against me, when I do.” 

“He got a bit angry the time you busted our nose.” 

Bakura grunted. "Accident. Missed my aim. He forgave me eventually." 

Dark Marik chuckled, but it had a slightly nervous note to it. "Sleep well, then." And he hurried off. 

“Don't mind him..." Bakura growled, looping one arm around Ryou; nuzzling slightly into his hair. "He gets a bit nasty, but he won't hurt you. 'Cause the Light one likes you. Like I said. And 'cause he knows I'd break his nose again, if he did." 

Ryou felt his skin heat up a bit, because it was the first time Bakura had voiced the subtle protectiveness that he'd begun to display. He fell back asleep, then, content to cuddle with the King of Thieves. 

Around mid-morning, Bakura roused himself; Ryou fetched three plates of breakfast from the inn kitchen. The day passed peacefully, more so once Dark Marik had given way once again to his Light counterpart. 

Late in the afternoon, Bakura slipped out—for a walk, he said, after verifying that Ryou was okay staying in the room with Marik. Ryou assured him that it was fine, and he left. 

"You know, you're special," Marik said without preamble, and Ryou glanced over at him. "I knew it for sure last night. He shared his food with you. He doesn't even do that with me, all the time—just when we've had a fight, or he wants to apologize for hitting the other me, or when he can tell I've had a bad day. But not that often. And not with _anyone_ else." 

Ryou nodded, unsure of what to say. 

Marik seemed content to carry the conversation, walking over to sit beside Ryou on the bed. "I know he acts all prickly, but he's not so bad. And he's loyal. So loyal. He should have left me a long time ago, with how the other me acts. But he won't. He sticks with me, for some reason." 

"How did you meet?" Ryou asked, then added hesitantly, "Bakura mentioned... that you saved him..." 

“He says that, but the real fact is that we saved each other,” Marik said. “I didn’t know how to live, on the streets. He did. And I had a fully functioning set of eyes, where he didn’t. Good match. We were... ten, I think? Maybe a little younger... It was just after he’d lost most of his vision, and he wasn’t adapting very well. Who would, at that age? I was a runaway from an upper-class family of tomb keepers. But I’d gotten myself caught in a trap—I was trying my hand at grave-robbing, see, and failing pretty miserably. I would’ve died there, if he hadn’t gotten me loose. But he was so weak... hadn’t eaten in gods only know how long, he never did tell me. Fainted, right there. I was pretty badly hurt, but I got him back to my little hideout. I had a bit of food stashed away, enough to get him back from the edge. Enough to keep us both alive. And we’ve been together ever since.” 

Marik sighed heavily; meshed his fingers, and said, "I don't know why he saved me, that day. He didn't have anything left... no strength, no will, no purpose, _nothing_. And for some reason he decided to take the last bit of energy he had and get some stupid kid loose from a funerary trap. He had no reason to think _I'd_ even make it, if he managed it, with how bad I was bleeding..." 

“He's a good person," Ryou said softly, and Marik gave a breathless chuckle. 

"He'd argue with you, on that. But yeah, you’re right. He is." 

“His eyes... exactly what does he see?" Ryou asked. 

"Light. And shadow. Shapes and movement. What he doesn't see are most colors (he can see reds and golds a little, in the right light), details like facial features or designs, and contrast. He gets confused easily when things are moving around a lot, and he can’t see objects when they’re up against other similar-colored things, like a glass on a table. Reading is completely out of the question.” 

"Wow..." Ryou murmured. "I didn't... I mean, I realized, but I _didn't_..." 

Marik nodded. "Yeah. It was worse at first, too—he's recovered some depth perception, which was really bad at the start. And he's gotten better at telling people apart by things like height and how they walk." 

“How did he survive?" Ryou asked quietly. "How did you _both_ live?" 

“He was definitely the weak link, at the start. He couldn't do much on his own. Well, we were both weak links. I could do things, but I had no idea _what_ to do.” Marik laughed. “But we worked it out eventually. Here, let me show you!” He hopped down from the bed, and motioned Ryou down beside him. “Here, we’d survey a place like this,” he said, crouching low and motioning to imaginary scenery on the wall across the bed. “I’d say, ‘See that person in the long cloak? She’s a customer. The person next to her is the shop owner. Can you make them out, or is it too dark in there?’ And he’d give me a yes or a no. 

“Then I'd describe the place—dimensions, furniture, and whatever we were trying to steal (usually food). And he'd do the rest. He could see normally, when he was real little, so he could picture everything I described, and supplement it with whatever he _could_ see. He made sense of things, that way. Man, he could steal _anything_... still can. I mean, that's how he got the title—King of Thieves. That's not some invented persona—he's got a gift for it. We ate damn well, most time, for a couple of ratty street kids.” 

Ryou nodded slowly, picturing it all clearly: Bakura and Marik as tiny children, executing such schemes day after day. 

“And he's a _fighter_ , was since the day I met him," Marik continued, sounding almost star-struck. "Scraps like no one I’ve ever met. First time a guard got ahold of him, he damn near took the fellow's arm off. That's no exaggeration—he ripped his elbow out of it's socket, almost severed it." 

"Wow." 

"Yeah. He can't find you or catch you worth shit, but if he does get hold of you, you're done." 

They rose, and sat once again on the bed. Marik had a small smile on his face—a peaceful expression, by all accounts, and nothing like the nasty grins his Dark counterpart sported. 

“Why are you split?" Ryou ventured. "If you don't mind me asking, of course...!" 

"Don’t mind, but can't exactly answer, because I don't exactly know," Marik admitted. "My Dark side is some sort of self-defense, I'm sure. He’s the off-shoot, even though he tries to convince everyone he’s the original, from time to time.” Marik chuckled nervously. “I start to believe him, sometimes. But Bakura is good about reminding me that it’s not true. 

“I'm from a pretty well-off family, but... well, my father...” Marik took a deep breath; seemed to start over. “My family had a servant, Rishid. My mom considered him a son, and he was sure as Ma’at my brother, blood be damned. But my father... beat him to death, one day. I ran away after that. I think that was when Dark Me started to form, when I... well, I saw it happen. Rishid was defending me, when it happened. 

“My sister Isis and I... we ran off together. But she... well, we didn't know what we were doing, so some bad guys got hold of us. She didn't make it, and I only survived because Dark Me took over. He fought, got us away from them. That was the first time he acted on his own. For a while after I met Bakura, the other me actually disappeared. But he came back, and got stronger, more distinct. Now I'm dominant about two thirds of the time, and he's out the rest. We cooperate, for the most part. Bakura helps me keep him in check." 

Ryou nodded slowly; said, "Thank you... for accepting me, like this..." 

“Of course!" Marik said, turning to him. "It's been just Bakura and I for a long time, since way back then, but that's not because we really want it to be that way, forever. But I mean—“ he laughed, "—we're thieves. And not only that, but I'm half-crazy, the other me tortures people for fun, and Bakura's a half-blind jerk. Who in Isfet would want to be around _us_ all the time?" 

"I would..." Ryou said quietly, and began to cry. After a moment of uncertain surprise, Marik gave him a hesitant hug; tightened his grip, when Ryou leaned into him. 

By the time Bakura returned, tears had been dried and a spirited game of senet was going on. That seemed to please the Thief King, and he was the one who fetched their suppers. He brought wine, too, and they had a small feast between them. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, and Ryou nearly began to weep again; Marik noticed, and put a subtle hand on his shoulder. 

When it was deep into the night, Bakura blew out the lanterns; bade Marik take the chair, and asked Ryou if they could share the bed, again. In the near darkness, Ryou said yes. 

They settled in together, and Bakura held Ryou tenderly. At some point during the night, Ryou flipped over; buried his face in Bakura's chest, and slept peacefully.

... ... ... 

Morning came. Ryou fetched breakfast. Marik was his Light self, and Bakura complained mildly about the sand that seemed to work its way into everything.

The pharaoh's caravan was set to come through town at approximately midday. 

"I'll handle the distraction," Marik said, at some point. They sat clustered around the little table, a bottle of wine between them; Ryou was beside the Thief King, both of them smushed into the same chair. "Bakura will do the deed." 

"You'll wait with the horses," Bakura told Ryou, an edge to his voice. 

"This isn't a suicide mission," Marik added, reassuringly. "We intend to come out of it alive, just like always." 

"We do," Bakura said. "And we will." 

Ryou nodded, unable to do anything but trust his newfound companions. Bakura caught his scarred hand; squeezed it almost painfully. 

"Dark Me is going to take over, for the mission," Marik said. "Don't worry, he's as committed to the plan as I am. He's just better at this sort of thing." 

Ryou nodded. "That's fine. I understand." 

"Such an understanding one..." Marik murmured, with a warm smile. Ryou smiled back. 

"Alright. So at midday, we’ll attack the pharaoh’s caravan.” Bakura’s voice was resolute. “If things go wrong, Ryou, take off. Take the horses and go. Understand?” 

Ryou blinked. "What? I..." 

"You _will_ stay safe. Understand?" Bakura's tone was final. 

And so Ryou nodded. "... I understand." 

"Good." Bakura's hand threaded up into Ryou's hair, and he leaned up; nuzzled into Ryou's temple and left a kiss there. 

Marik grinned; said, "Trust us, Ryou. If you're going to stick with us, you've gotta know—we're the _best_ at what we do." 

And again Ryou nodded. "I know that. I trust you."

... ... ... 

As the three of them left the inn, Bakura hung back to pay the inn-keeper. He did so quite generously, Ryou noticed, and friendly words were exchanged between them. Marik had gone oddly silent.

"Hey, you piece of shit," Bakura growled, when he rejoined them; Ryou jumped, but Marik only chuckled throatily. 

"Hey, yourself," he chortled, and Bakura punched his shoulder lightly. 

"He just switched over," Bakura informed Ryou, who nodded slowly. 

"Hello... Marik." 

“Good morning,” Dark Marik replied, with a toothy grin. He stuck out his tongue. 

They made their way to the inn stables, and Bakura fetched three horses from the corner. All three carried bags, though one more so than the others. Bakura pulled up his hood, and they walked to the edge of the town. Preparations for the pharaoh's caravan had begun in earnest, by then, and the streets were bustling with activity. No one questioned the three travelers. 

When they reached the very edge of town, they stopped; Bakura leaned up and kissed Ryou's cheek, then handed him the reigns of one of the horses—the one most laden with bags. Marik hung back, but didn't go far. 

"The valuables are all here," Bakura said, patting the bags. "If you need to go, and can't handle the other horses, just take off with this one. You should be able to live well off of this for a long time, if the worst happens." 

"I'm not going to..." Ryou murmured, but trailed off; drew a surprised breath as Bakura curled his hands in the front of Ryou’s shirt, pulling them close together and kissing Ryou’s mouth. 

"Tonight..." he growled; kissed Ryou again, sweetly. "Tonight we'll have ourselves a feast... we'll eat well and drink good wine... we'll celebrate... so please... stay safe... because I _will_ return for you." 

Ryou draped his arms around the Thief King's shoulders, automatically; felt the wiry strength there, and the tension carried in the small frame. He pressed his mouth close to Bakura's ear and whispered, "A promise for a promise... you'll return... and tonight we'll make love..." 

Bakura made an eager little noise, and Ryou chuckled. They kissed again, passionately, until Marik cleared his throat. 

"C'mon, lover," he growled, jerking his head, then nodded to Ryou as Bakura heeded him. "You, kid, stay safe. I don't want to have to deal with this one breaking down on me, if anything bad happens." 

"I'll see you soon, Marik," Ryou replied, with a smile; Dark Marik looked genuinely surprised, and Bakura snorted. 

"Don't get all friendly," Marik blustered, after a moment. "I'm not the Other Me. I'd just as soon leave you both for dead." 

"No one believes you, asshole," Bakura said, shoving him in the shoulder. Dark Marik grimaced, but ducked his head in something like embarrassment. 

"You keep telling me to stay safe, but you two stay safe, too," Ryou said. 

Bakura nodded; turned. "We will. We'll be back." 

"We'll celebrate," Ryou said. 

And Bakura replied, "Yeah. We'll celebrate."


	6. I Told You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest apologies for the wait! Thank you all so so much for the wonderful comments and support. <3 
> 
> This chapter was a _mess_ to edit, so please excuse any issues! *bows*

Time passed. The sun rolled slowly across the sky and Ryou, sitting beside the horses, watched. 

The sun reached its apex, but Ryou was was much too far out to catch even a glimpse of the caravan. He waited, tense, for something to happen—hopefully for Bakura and Marik to appear. They did not. Ryou climbed up onto one of the horses in an attempt to see something, to get any type of indication, but it was useless. He fidgeted; waited for some time longer, with no results. 

_If things go wrong..._

Ryou twisted around; opened one of the bags that was fixed in place behind him. Within was an improbable amount of gold and jewels, and Ryou's breath caught. 

_This should last..._

Ryou sifted through the first layer of treasures; came upon an ornate dagger, perhaps less a practical thing and more an ornamental one, and removed it. The blade had clearly been sharpened recently. 

_"This isn't a suicide mission,"_ Marik had said, and Ryou believed him. But Bakura, if not Marik as well, clearly knew that capture—or death—was a very real possibility. 

Ryou felt himself start to tremble. 

"Okay... okay..." he breathed, and then glanced at the sun. It had slipped some way down the slope of the sky. "Okay..." He hopped down and picked up the horses' lead reigns. _I could... it would be easier... without the horses... but if we need to get away quickly..._

Ryou started slowly back the way they had come, towards the heart of the city. He soon came upon the crowds, gathered to glimpse the pharaoh, but they let him and the horses pass through without much trouble. The procession appeared to have stopped, although nothing was obviously wrong. So far back in the line of carriages, he could determine where the pharaoh's would be, ahead in the distance. 

The horses fidgeted; one snorted, and Ryou shushed it nervously. 

_Where are you...?_ Ryou strained to see above the crowd; considered mounting, and dismissed it, as that would draw entirely too much attention. _Are you okay? Or did something go wrong...?_

"Looking for someone?" 

Ryou jumped at the unfamiliar voice; spun, forced a laugh, and seized on the opportunity. "Y-Yes...! I just... there was a commotion, and I lost my friend! What was that all about, anyway?" Ryou had no way, of course, of knowing whether or not there had been any commotion at noon—he just hoped that the description was vague enough to not raise suspicion, if there hadn't been, and perhaps get some information if there had been. 

The man—common-looking, with a kind face—shook his head slowly. "Somebody spooked the horses pullin' the pharaoh's carriage. Not sure if they caught 'em, or what they were up to, but the procession's been stopped since." 

_Not sure..._ Ryou's pulse quickened, and he smiled; thanked the man, and then hurried away. _Someone spooked the horses... that had to have been Marik, right...? But why have they stopped? Did they catch them? Bakura? And Marik? But if they caught them, then why did they stop?!_

The crowds grew thicker and less inclined to yield as Ryou neared the the front of the procession. He eventually tied two of the horses some ways back, all thoughts of abandoning his search having faded, though he took the third with him and persisted. 

The pharaoh himself was nowhere to be seen, and the guards around his carriage stood proud and alert. Ryou saw deep ruts in the ground, the marks of panicking horses' hooves, although the animals were now calm and patient. 

_If they caught Marik, first..._

_"He saved me... Marik did... I was dead. We were both too young. The world was cruel."_

Ryou shuddered. He knew Bakura wouldn't leave the other thief behind, even in the worst of circumstances. And Marik—Light or Dark, it didn't matter—would never leave Bakura behind, either. _One of them probably got caught... and the other must be lurking nearby, somewhere..._

From the carriage just behind the pharaoh's, someone looked out—a small face, with spiked hair threaded through with beads and glittering ornaments. They ducked back inside, just as quickly, and Ryou dismissed the sighting. 

_Marik... Bakura... please be alright...!_

Pressing through the crowd, Ryou searched for any glimpse of Bakura's cowled red robe; found nothing. Marik's gold arm bands, too, intended to make him stand out in a crowd, were nowhere to be seen. 

_Please... please be alright...!_

There was a sudden commotion from just in front of the Pharaoh's carriage, though the guards didn't react—an expected commotion, then. There was a solid _thunk_ , then, and a pained shout, and Ryou's whole body felt suddenly chilled. 

_Marik...!_ Without thinking, he swung up onto the horse's back; urged it through the crowd, and so forced people to part. A moment later, he heard Dark Marik's distinctive cackling. 

"Hehe... such violence, in the presence of the honored pharaoh..." 

There was another _thud_ ; more dark chuckling, breathless this time. Ryou paused, wondering if _this_ could actually be the distraction—perhaps things were proceeding exactly as planned. For the sake of subtlety, he slid off the horse once again and continued forward; heard another blow come down, and heard Marik gasp. The crowd had begun to mutter and shift uneasily. 

"Is that the best you can do?" Marik sneered, although he sounded notably short of breath. "Hurry up. Kill me!" 

Ryou froze; sensed the weight in the last two words, and realized they were some sort of signal. He managed to peer around a couple of people; catch a glimpse of Marik, on his side with wrists and ankles bound. A guard had one foot planted on his ribs, and Ryou noticed suddenly just how narrow Marik's chest was; just how physically weak he appeared, in such circumstances. Ryou's heart twisted. 

"Kill me..." Marik breathed, and then let his head fall limp against the ground. The murmuring of the crowd intensified, and the guard hesitated. 

"We won't kill you, thief," came a powerful voice, from the carriage. Ryou strained to see the person who could only be the pharaoh, but failed; his line of sight was blocked by the crowd. "That's not how we deal with beasts like you. We'll cut off your hands, instead, so you can have the pleasure of begging for your bread each day." 

The noise of the crowd rose, now conflicted—some voicing support for the proclamation, others raising objections. Marik's eyes widened as he was heaved upright and set on his knees. His bounds wrists were grabbed and pulled away from his back, then raised until he shouted at the strain on his shoulders. 

"Are you prepared?" came the pharaoh's voice again. "I won't have _anyone_ threaten myself or my family. Is that understood?" 

Marik gave a breathless little chuckle, and Ryou could see the panic on his face. "I wasn't... I mean, I..." 

Someone was looking out of the carriage behind the pharaoh's once again, but this time no one, Ryou included, took notice. 

"No matter!" came the pharaoh's voice once again. "Your punishment will be served—guard!" 

The guard gave a serious nod; raised his khopesh. Marik closed his eyes, but held still; didn't struggle as his hands were jerked just a bit further out behind him. His forearm bands, which may have stopped or stalled the blade, had been removed. Ryou's body tensed, and he grabbed the dagger at his side reflexively. 

With all eyes on Marik, no one—Ryou included, to his astonishment—noticed the red-robed shadow appear from the other side of the crowd. No one noticed the King of Thieves slip past the guards and materialize, seemingly by dark magic, behind the guard poised to take Marik's hands off. 

"No one threatens _my_ family, either," he growled. The man tried to twist and strike with his khopesh, but Bakura had broken his neck before he could so much as cry out. 

For a moment, Ryou's heart soared, even as the crowd erupted in panic; buffeted him as people began to flee. But then Marik snarled, "You fool!" and it struck him quite suddenly what had happened. 

_He had one free shot. And he didn't use it on the pharaoh._

"Was I supposed to let you get your damn hands chopped off?!" Bakura demanded, even as he fended off a guard; Marik was on his feet, but his hands were still bound. Ryou clung to the horse to keep from being swept away by the crowd. 

"He wouldn't have taken them off in one swing!" Marik retorted. 

"Oh, and those are dice that the other you would be willing to roll, too?!" Bakura snarled. 

By then, despite his best efforts, Ryou had been buffeted some ways back; he lost sight of the two thieves, and it was taking increasing effort to keep the horse from panicking. Again, someone was peering out from the second carriage—two someones, now, both with spiked hair and dripping in gold jewelry. One, the smaller of the two, made eye contact with Ryou; motioned, and Ryou struggled to guide the horse over. When he'd gotten mostly free of the crowd, he gasped out thanks. 

"Don't mention it!" the boy said. The second inhabitant of the carriage—taller, though still notably small in stature, and with a more serious face—watched Ryou from over his companion's shoulder. "Things got out of hand. I'm sorry." 

"Y-You shouldn't..." Ryou mumbled; trailed off. 

"It'll be taken care of shortly," said the other boy, gazing off towards the first carriage. "Father will take care of it." 

Ryou felt the blood drain from his face. "'Father?'" 

"I'm Prince Atem," the serious young man said, turning back to Ryou. "This is my fiancé, Yugi." 

"You're welcome to stick close to us, until it dies down," Yugi said, smiling kindly. "No one will hurt you. And if you try to fight the crowds with your horse, it might panic and hurt you or someone else." 

Ryou shuddered; tried to smile, and managed a weak, "Th-Thank you, Lords..." 

“Are you okay?” Yugi asked, leaning a bit further out of the carriage. He placed a hand on Ryou’s shoulder. 

Ryou shook his head slowly; murmured, “I... n-no... I mean...” 

“Are you trying to get away from someone?” Yugi asked gently, the inference obvious. 

This time Ryou’s head-shake was jerky; adamant. “No. No, I’m trying... to get back to someone. Someone who saved me from that. Someone I think I might love.” 

“That’s wonderful!” Yugi exclaimed. “I’m so glad. We’ll help you find them, if you want, once all this is sorted out.” 

Ryou was trying to find a response when the guards, mere meters ahead, exploded into a flurry of motion. A dozen or so rushed past—a few sparing Ryou glances but none stopping—with shouts of, “Find him!” and, “He’s nearby! I know it!” 

And then came the rough shout from the lead carriage—the defiant, wordless snarl of rage and pain. Ryou’s whole body responded, and he had no choice but to heed it. 

“I-I’m sorry!” he called, when Yugi gave a questioning shout. “Thank you! I have to go!” 

He didn’t hear anything else the young Prince and his betrothed might have said—he was already on his way, past the guards and into view of the pharaoh’s carriage. The pharaoh himself was keeping judicious distance, but four guards were clustered around a figure—an intimidating figure, in the best of circumstances, but made less so by his lack of stature; made even less so by the fact that he’d been forced to his knees. His red robe had been torn open across his back by a whip—a cruel instrument, flayed at its end and studded with metal. 

“Thief King!” Ryou called out before he could bite it back, and Bakura looked up; his crippled eyes widened. 

“Who are _you_?” the pharaoh called out, and Ryou drew himself up. 

“Ryou! My name is Ryou, and I’m—“ 

“A slave!” the Thief King shouted, though a guard kicked him in the ribs. He gasped; coughed, and then forced out a laugh. He glanced at Ryou, then looked up at the pharaoh. “I got board, waiting for you to arrive! So I bought a slave! You wouldn’t happen to want him, would you? He’s very pretty! Has tried to _escape_ a few times, but pretty fun otherwise!” 

_Escape...!_ Ryou heard the meaning in the Thief King’s words, but couldn’t heed it. He looked around, frantic. _Marik... where’s Marik?! Those guards... they had to be looking for him, right? Could he have run away?!_

_... No. Light or Dark, just like Bakura wouldn’t leave him, he wouldn’t leave Bakura. I’m sure of it._

_Marik—you better be watching. I’ll give you an opening. That’s all I can do._

“Please—consider him a gift for the great pharaoh!” Bakura was carrying on, and the whip came down suddenly. Bakura’s back arched, jaws stretching wide, but he didn’t cry out again. 

Ryou placed the golden dagger deliberately on top of the horse’s saddle-bags; raised his hands. Two guards were slowly starting to approach him, though two remained beside Bakura. “L-Lord Pharaoh...” Ryou began, and glanced to the side; he could see Yugi and Prince Atem peering out of their carriage, although unsure what they could see or hear. “I offer myself to you... as sacrifice.” 

Bakura was staring at him, eyes as round as a terrified child’s, and he leaned forward. The small movement was all it took to bring the whip down again, and this time he did give a choked cry; collapsed forward onto his face. 

_Please... trust me..._ Ryou thought, taking another step forward; another. The guards seemed uncertain, glancing at the pharaoh for any sort of cue. _Trust Marik. I know he couldn’t have gone far. I know he’s here. I know he’ll come for you. Maybe not for me... but I know he’ll come for you._

“Venerable lord pharaoh...” Ryou stepped between the guards; in the absence of any orders, they let him pass. He was scarcely a meter away from Bakura, and perhaps two from the pharaoh himself. “If you’ll have me... I give myself over... willingly and joyfully... as a gift.” 

He was a mere meter from the pharaoh. 

“Please, in return, let the Thief King go.” 

Three things happened simultaneously: the guards closed on Ryou, the Thief King gave an agonized shout, and Marik appeared like vengeful spirit wielding the golden knife. He went straight for the guard with the whip; slit his throat, and then slammed into the other guard still near Bakura. The two that had come at Ryou seemed to forget about him, and as they turned he grabbed one of them—untrained fighter though he was, it slowed the guard enough for Marik to dispatch two more of the frantic pharaoh’s men. 

“Ryou!” Bakura’s voice sent a thrill through Ryou’s whole body, once more, and he hung on tighter to the guard. Those who had gone to look for Marik were returning; surrounding them. Ryou’s vision was blocked by the guard’s bulk, but he could hear—he could hear that Bakura had gotten loose, and that made him smile. 

The guard threw him off a moment later, and he hit the ground with a squeak. But before the guard could round on him, Marik appeared—broke the fellow’s neck with a sharp twist, then grabbed Ryou’s hand and heaved him roughly to his feet. 

“The horses?!” he demanded, and Ryou shook his head. 

“Just that one. The crowds—“ 

“Damn!” Marik spat, then tightened his grip on Ryou’s hand. “Fine—we’ll make due! Shit!” Then he stretched up; shouted, “Hey! You piece of shit excuse for a partner! Get over here!” 

Bakura dispatched his opponent quickly, then zeroed in on Ryou and Marik among the tumult of otherwise indistinguishable figures. He dodged with impressive agility through the crowd, leaving the pharaoh behind without hesitation. 

“Let’s go!” he grunted, grabbing the horse’s reigns. He wrenched Ryou free of Marik’s grasp, despite Ryou’s squawk of objection, and shoved him up onto the horse. 

“But—!” Ryou began, and the Thief King kissed his hand. 

“You couldn’t keep up on foot,” he murmured, "so we’ll just have to catch up with you.” 

“Thanks for this!” Marik called, waving the guided dagger above his head. “Quite a weapon to go out wielding!” 

“Go out—?!” Ryou demanded, breathless. 

And then, a new voice: “Ryou!” 

Ryou’s head snapped around in time to see Yugi leaning precariously far out from the window of his carriage; Prince Atem, quite pointedly, was looking away. Yugi sliced through the harnesses on the horses pulling their carriage, then shot Ryou a thumbs-up. 

“What the—?!” Marik snarled, even as the Thief King rushed past him and grabbed one of the horses. 

“Thanks!” he shouted, and waved to the figures in the carriage—neither of which he could see with any level of clarity. Yugi returned the wave with a bewildered smile, and Atem’s eyebrows rose. 

“Wait—! That’s—! We can’t just—! Fuck!” Marik scrambled to mount the other horse as guards closed in; Ryou waited, then spurred his own horse onward as Marik, still cursing, took off after Bakura. Even as the guards scrambled to find horses to follow, the distance between them grew. Bakura, at some point, let out a whoop despite the bleeding slashes across his back. 

“You just _waved_ at the Prince of Egypt!” Marik shouted, then cackled. 

“I did?” Bakura glanced over his shoulder. “Well _that's_ awkward!” 

Marik laughed; spurred the royal horse along and gave triumphant shout as they pounded past the border of the town. 

Bakura dropped back a bit to where Ryou was riding. “We told you to take off. That we’d find you again, no matter what.” 

“I couldn’t be alone again,” Ryou replied, unflinching. “What good is freedom when you’re separated from the people you love?” 

Bakura drew back, face slack with surprise. Then he began to chuckle; reached over and grasped Ryou’s shoulder. 

“You’re right... of course you’re right...” He laughed again, then called up, “Marik, you crazy bastard! Where are you leading us?!” 

“I don’t know!” Marik hollered back, then gave an exuberant shout and spurred his horse faster. Bakura, chuckling, followed; motioned to Ryou, who didn’t need the invitation.


	7. Follow Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops look at that the rating changed~ ~~*fidgets nervously because I've never posted something like this off-anon??* @~@~~
> 
> So sorry for the delay, thank you so much for all the support throughout the course of the story, and I do hope everyone enjoys the final chapter! :'D

The three thieves road deep into the night, until the horses were thoroughly exhausted. The humans, though, were bursting with energy despite the events of the day. Bakura had swapped his torn robe for a new one, the slashes along his back having scabbed over. 

Bakura threw open the doors of a tavern with a shout, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He strode up to the bar, robe swishing behind him; Malik followed, grinning, with Ryou beside him. When he reached the bar, Bakura slammed down a handful of golden jewelry. “We want a feast—everyone here should celebrate with us! Bring out all the good food and wine you’ve got!” 

And so the Thief King was welcomed without the customary fear, though with perhaps a bit of caution. For hours they ate and drank; there was dancing. At some point—only Bakura knew exactly when—Dark Malik yielded to Light Malik, though they were nearly indistinguishable within the context of celebration. Observing this, Ryou thought they might not be as different as they projected. 

When the wine had been exhausted, the Thief King and his comrades retired to their rented upstairs room; Malik collapsed backwards onto one of the beds with a contented exclamation, stretching out luxuriously. 

The Thief King stayed standing, his fingers interlocked with Ryou’s. He spun Ryou in a slow, lazy circle, a subdued reprise of their dances downstairs. They kissed; Ryou looped his arms around Bakura for support, made dizzy by weariness and wine. 

“I love you... I love you...” The Thief King breathed it between each kiss, and Ryou laughed softly. Bakura let his head fall against Ryou’s chest, and said it once more: “I love you...” 

At some point, Malik reappeared, unobtrusive but gently insistent, at Bakura’s shoulder. He pulled the Thief King over to one of the beds; bade him sit down, and stripped off his robe while Ryou fetched medicine and dressings. The Thief King sat, still and patient, as Malik and Ryou worked together to patch up his badly torn skin. Some of the deeper patches had reopened, during the celebration, and special care was taken with those. 

“You two are too good to me...” Bakura murmured, at some point; Ryou kissed one of his shoulders, and Malik smacked the other with enough force to make Bakura grumble an objection. 

When the wounds were treated and dressed, Malik gave an exaggerated yawn; announced, “Tonight, I’ll sleep like the dead! You two make as much noise as you want to.” 

Bakura shot him a sore glance, and Malik grinned back. Malik and Ryou embraced; exchanged “good-nights.” Then Malik blew out the lantern beside his bed; lay down, and pulled the covers up entirely over his head. 

Ryou and Bakura sat in silence for a moment, each unsure of what to do. As it was, they began speaking at the same time. 

“If you want to wait—“ 

“If it’s too strenuous, with your back—“ 

They both looked at each other; laughed, and kissed. 

“I don’t want to wait.” 

“If my back was _broken_ , it wouldn’t make any damn difference.” 

Laughing again, they tipped back onto the bed, Ryou’s white hair spreading out beneath him and the King of Thieves crouched atop him. Slowly, languidly, Bakura began to undress him, kissing each bit of pale skin he exposed. Ryou’s breath came faster—his body responded as it always did, dutifully, but this time his heart leaped and a delighted heat flooded across his skin. He tried to remember if such an act had ever brought him genuine pleasure, and failed. 

“You smell sweet...” Bakura murmured, pressing his face into the soft spot just above Ryou’s hip; kissing and then sucking gently at the skin there. Ryou gasped; fidgeted, and then stiffened as Bakura slid lower, powerful hands sliding along Ryou’s thighs and pushing his skirts down. “Love you... so much...” 

“I love you... too...” Ryou breathed, then moaned throatily. Bakura lavished attention and kisses lower, then lifted Ryou’s hips gently for better access. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes...” Ryou breathed, then whined as his hips gave an involuntary jerk. “Yes, please...!” 

Bakura made a delighted little growling sound, almost a purr, and began a thorough, attentive prepping. Ryou’s legs began to quiver, chest heaving as his fingers knotted in the bedclothes. Such care was likely unnecessary, but it was done lovingly and erotically nonetheless, and Ryou fell even further in love with his Thief King for his tenderness. 

At last, Bakura drew back; leaned in over Ryou once more and kissed him, sloppily, greedy for the contact. He mumbled adoration, and Ryou responded in breathless kind. When the Thief King lifted his legs once again, he positioned them both carefully—Ryou’s feet slightly low, wrapped around Bakura’s hips to avoid the wounds on his back. 

“Is this okay...?” Bakura breathed heavily, face buried in the crook of Ryou’s neck. 

“Yes... yes, please... Bakura... King of Thieves...” Ryou reached up; threaded one hand through Bakura’s hair and scratched lightly at his shoulders with the other. “Take me... steal me away... please...” 

Bakura growled an assent; still took great care to position himself, and shifted slightly so they were both more comfortable. Then he leaned up; stretched, and kissed Ryou once again, a hungry merging of mouths. When Bakura moved, a gentle forward thrust, Ryou’s wanton moan was swallowed up by the kiss, and only Bakura’s gentle grip on him kept him retrained. Bakura, too, groaned; his chest heaving as he began to move slowly, then with more deliberate force. Ryou gave a muffled sob, clinging on tighter and moving his hips to match Bakura’s thrusts. 

For as many times as Ryou Bakura had been in such a position, never had it felt so right—sublime. Never had he felt tears come into his eyes for the sheer joy of such an act. Thief King Bakura was all around him, in feel and in scent; inside him, a part of him. 

_This... like flying with Horus’ own great wings... this is freedom...!_

Ryou surrendered himself—gave himself over completely to the man he loved, and who loved him in return. His back arched, the heat building in him growing intolerable, and at last they broke the kiss for sheer need of gasping breath. Ryou wailed; sobbed, with the coming of climax, and then moaned tremulously as Bakura worked him through it. Then the Thief King, too, followed suit—cried out, though not as loudly, and more throatily, then lapsed into a heavy groaning. He leaned up; kissed Ryou again, muffling Ryou’s whines and whimpers. 

Together, they came down; clung to one another and slowly, carefully eased back from the near-painful peak of ecstasy. Then, shuddering, they collapsed, Ryou back onto the bed and Bakura beside him, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. 

“I love you...” Bakura said, breathlessly and needlessly. He pulled Ryou closer; tangled his fingers in Ryou’s long white hair and kissed him, clumsily, all over his face. “Love you... so much... love you...” 

Ryou chuckled; returned the kisses, feeling the toughness of the scar against his lips. “I love you, too...” 

“Stay... stay with me forever...” 

“As long as you want me to.” 

“Forever...” 

“Forever, then...”

... ... ... 

When morning came, Ryou and Bakura woke, still weary and a bit sticky, in one another’s arms. Malik’s bed was empty, so they took advantage to bathe undisturbed in the small washroom. Bakura allowed Ryou to gently work the mats out of his hair. At one point, they had to start over, since they had tumbled from the tub and wound up on the washroom floor in a reprisal of the previous night. By the time they were both washed and dressed, Malik was waiting at the table with breakfast.

“I know I said to make as much noise as you wanted to, but all the ‘I-love-you’s damn near rotted my bones,” he sneered, raising a glass of beer as if in a toast. Bakura drew his lip back. 

“So it rotted _your_ bones, and I’ll bet the other you got off on it, am I right?” 

“We need to find ourselves someone as understanding as little Ryou, here,” Malik said, with a chuckle. “We can only do so much for each other, with just the one body.” 

“Let the Other You come up for air,” Bakura said, thudding down. Ryou sat beside him. “I don’t have the patience for you, today.” 

Malik shrugged, then closed his eyes; there was an imperceptible shift, and when he opened them again he said, “Jeez! Thanks, Bakura. I think he was out for a bit too long, yesterday—got too used to it.” 

Bakura nodded. “Yeah... never a good idea, to give him free reign for that long.” He tucked into his breakfast; bade Ryou to do the same. “Think we can stay here for a bit? What’s the atmosphere like?” 

“Word’s gotten around, of course,” Malik said, pushing the beer glass away and fetching himself a cup of milk. “That you tried to kill the pharaoh. As usual, I’m mostly missing from the stores. But more than that, the ending’s different, when people tell it. They say you were close—so close to succeeding, and that no one could stop you. They say you gave up _voluntarily_.” 

Bakura’s brows arched. “Voluntarily?” 

Malik nodded. “They say that the pharaoh offered you a slave, in return for backing off.” 

Ryou’s eyes widened accordingly. “That’s what...?” 

“A really rare, valuable slave,” Malik continued, tucking into his breakfast. “One with white hair and pale skin. And they say you took the deal and left.” 

Bakura laughed; said, “That’s a great rumor! Fantastic! I couldn’t have made up a better story myself!” He glanced over at Ryou. “Are you... okay with that story?” 

“Of course!” Ryou exclaimed. “Like you said, it’s a wonderful story!” 

“But you’d still... people are still going to _think_ you’re a slave, when they see you.” Bakura looked earnestly troubled, and Ryou nearly laughed; smiled, instead, tenderly. 

“I’ll know differently. So would you. And besides, no one would dare try to steal the property of the Thief King.” 

“Smart kid,” Malik commented admiringly, though Bakura didn’t look convinced. 

“You’re sure?” he asked again, and Ryou leaned over; kissed him. 

“I’m sure. It’s fine,” he breathed, against Bakura’s mouth. “Being kept among the treasures of the Thief King would be a great honor.” 

“Then I’ll keep you like no other treasure...” Bakura growled; Malik cleared his throat, but was roundly ignored as Bakura leaned in closer, crawling halfway onto Ryou’s lap. “I’ll dress you in the finest silks... steal the best food for you, and try again if something’s not to your taste... I’ll keep you well...” 

Ryou chuckled; craned his neck to glance over at Malik, who gave an exasperated little shrug. Ryou squeaked when Bakura, in his lapse of attention, bit tenderly into his neck. 

“Ah...! I-I get it!” He laughed, pressing the Thief King back. “Enough, point taken!” 

“I love you...” Bakura growled; his eyes were closed, now, and he pushed forward more insistently. The chair tipped, with the momentum, and Ryou shrieked as they both went crashing to the ground. 

“You’re going to tear open your back again...!” Ryou objected. “You impossible—! Get off!” 

“Let’s get your back tended to...” Malik murmured, appearing at Bakura’s shoulder and giving it a gentle tug. 

Bakura growled an objection, but relented. Ryou sat up, then followed as Malik shooed Bakura into the washroom. Together they applied salves to the Thief King's back; bandaged the wounds left by the royal whips. Bakura muttered the entire time, but sat still and tolerant. Ryou's hands strayed, from time to time, across old scars as well as the fresh wounds. 

"I could tell you the story behind every one," Malik said softly, seeming to sense Ryou's musings. 

"Don't you dare," Bakura growled. 

"Most of them are really good!" Malik objected. "The only embarrassing ones are—" 

"Don't you _dare_!" Bakura rounded on Malik, who only laughed and held up his salve-smeared hands. 

Ryou began to laugh, then, unable to stop himself despite the hand held to his mouth. Malik grinned over at him. 

Bakura's defensiveness faded, and he turned; pressed himself up into Ryou, and murmured, "I'll tell you every damn story, if you want..." 

"I'm going to run to the market for some things," Malik said, by way of excusing himself. He placed a hand on Ryou's shoulder, and Ryou glanced over at him. Malik's eyes glimmered, almost as if with tears, and he said, "You look after him, Ryou." 

"Be back before supper!" Bakura called, as Malik stalked off; Malik raised a hand. "Ey! Dark Malik! Don't go wandering off!" 

"I won't," was the crooned response, and Ryou felt a flicker of surprise. "Promise." 

The door to the inn room shut quite solidly, and Bakura sighed. He kissed Ryou lightly, and then murmured, "You're sure? This is the life you want? He's not an easy one to live with. Me either. I'm not, I'm telling you now." 

Ryou returned the kiss. "I'm sure," he whispered, against Bakura's mouth. "I've never been more sure about a thing in my life." 

Bakura pulled back; stared at Ryou with those faulty eyes of his. "You're so beautiful..." 

Ryou held his gaze, and smiled. "You're no hardship to look at either, Thief King."

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for your readership! It means the world to me, and I'm so happy I was able to post this story~ 
> 
> ... In other news, there may be a sequel to this in the works (no promises, but Yami Bakura kind of showed up and... well... yeah...). So that. Oops. :P


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